


We Don't Do Meetings Very Well; We're More Hands-On

by tobinlaughing



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: An excuse for smut, Bruce Banner Cooks, Darcy Lewis - Freeform, F/M, Food Porn, Multi, Pepper Potts - Freeform, Plot What Plot, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Thor is a fertility god too, Tony Stark Has Issues, avengers porn, avengers smut, clint barton - Freeform, does thor sex count as alien sex pollen?, hooray threesomes, jane foster science in bed, natasha romanov is hungry and horny, steve rogers - Freeform, temporarily ship darcy with all the things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobinlaughing/pseuds/tobinlaughing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Tony dupes the rest of the Avengers into sitting through six hours of Human-Resources lectures, notes, and team-building activities, they've got more than a little pent-up energy and more than a few ideas of how to get rid of it. </p><p>Also tonight seemed like a good superhero smut night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony's Idea of a Joke

The door to the common room banged on its hinges and bounced, leaving the doorknob-shaped impression on the wall behind it just a little deeper than before. Bruce stumbled through in Natasha's wake, the redheaded assassin already at the kitchen cabinets as he took one last look at the useless packet of papers in his hand and flung it carelessly onto the coffee table in the middle of the TV room. Darcy and Jane shuffled into the room, dead-eyed, and dropped their packets atop his in unison even as they flopped onto the leather sofa as one. Barton speed-walked through the common area, headed for the half-bath just beyond the kitchen, managing to snatch a cookie out of Natasha's hand as she munched meditatively at the kitchen sink. Bruce sank into his own favorite armchair and plucked the glasses from his nose, kneading his temples with his knuckles and wishing this was the kind of headache that the Other Guy showed up for. There needed to be visible consequences to afternoons like this. Broken glass, crushed masonry, torn feather pillows at the very least.

Steve and Thor strolled through the door as though just returned from a pleasant afternoon's study in the library, each assiduously reading a page in the thick piles of hole-punched, tabbed packets the others had so vehemently discarded. Thor stopped strolling when his shins bumped into the arm of the couch, and he frowned at the sight of Darcy and Jane apparently so wrung out on the sofa cushions. 

"What ails my love?" he asked, tucking the packet under one arm and leaning down to brush Jane's hair out of her face. She glared at him.

" 'What ails' me are four and a half hours of my life that I'll never get back!" she snapped, her body sagging limply into the couch despite the vitriol in her eyes and voice. "I cannot believe I didn't just walk out of that conference room! I could feel my brain cells atrophying as we sat there!"

"My ass feels flat." Darcy moaned, shifting on the couch but making no effort to move from her cushion. "It was like freshman seminar all over again."

"Six hours." Bruce muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and massaging harder. "Six hours of slides and visual aids. And notes. He printed lecture notes."

"And once again I'm the odd man out, I guess," Steve commented from a stool at the bar. Four sets of eyes settled on him and he blushed at the variations of exasperated weariness. "I dunno, I found it pretty--pretty interesting. Human Resources wasn't really a thing when I was younger, and it's kind of fascinating to see what kind of systems have developed in response to such a varied field of corporations springing up under a rather unified set of laws and practices...." Steve felt Natasha's eyes burning holes in the back of his skull and stopped. He was sure he could smell burning hair. 

"I, too, found the afternoon rather informative," Thor announced, picking Jane up with one hand like a doll and settling himself under her on the couch. Gesturing with the packet, he explained, "all that is found in here echoes the basic tenets of leadership and the best practices of military minds I have known across the Nine Realms. T'is basic common sense applied to the direction of large groups with different goals, and it is a study in humanity to see it applied so to commerce and trade."

"What it was, was Stark making us jump through hoops for his own amusement under the guise of 'team-building activities','' Natasha growled from the kitchen. "I didn't need to build a tower out of marshmallows and toothpicks to find out what my 'team-member personality' was, thankyouverymuch." She slapped mayonnaise on the bread in her hands like someone who suffered no fools gladly, either in her teammates or in sandwiches; Bruce could tell any recalcitrant deli meats would find themselves piled atop the bread mercilessly, pinned down by a thick layer of cheese as punishment. A frustration sandwich, he thought, and grinned in spite of himself. 

"You're all just feeling a lot of pent-up energy and that's feeding your frustrations," Barton announced, emerging at last from the bathroom. "What's needed is a couple laps around the training-center track and some focused physical activity. In fact," he said, leaning over the back of the couch and Darcy's shoulder with a decided leer, "I've got some calisthenics in mind that might do you a world of good, girly-girl."

"Hawkeye," Steve frowned, flipping through his packet, "weren't you paying attention? That kind of behavior is classic workplace sexual harrassment. You can't just assume Miss Lewis is going to be open to your physical advances because the two of you have had a relationship outside of the workplace in the past. In fact, making that very assumption could lead to her or another employee filing a complaint on her behalf to Human Resources, which would definitely complicate the everyday flow of the workplace we all have to share."

"Must've slept through that part, Cap," Barton quipped, offering Darcy his hand up from the couch.

"Yeah, me too," Darcy nodded, scrambling over the back of the couch and into Barton's inviting grip. "And don't worry, Cap," she fluttered her eyelashes at him, "his advances are never unwelcome." She paused as Barton made to pull her from the room with both hands, and Steve felt the heat rise in his face to the very roots of his hair as Darcy gave him an incredibly overt once-over, complete with moistened lips and a lewd wink. "Don't feel you've gotta hold yourself back, either, Cap'n Tightpants. After all, HR's rules were made to be broken, amirite?"

The mood in the room was definitely changed as the reliably-horny couple took their leave towards Barton and Darcy's shared apartment. Jane was noticeably less cranky, draped across Thor's lap, and Bruce could almost smell the super-soldier pheromones emanating from the two Avengers in the kitchen. He supressed a grin to see Steve struggling with his newfound knowledge of what unwanted advances could do to a cooperative workplace machine, as it came up against the artistic imagination and scientifically-enhanced libido of the former loser trapped in a hero's body. What was more interesting to watch, though, was the way Natasha was obviously deciding to refocus her pent-up energy away from comfort food and towards other forms of release. Bruce was almost--but not quite--surprised to find himself imagining what her career as a superspy might have taught her about other ways to deal with her teammates in various situations. 

She caught his eye from across the room and he gulped nervously.


	2. Kicking Things Off

The sex didn't happen right away. There were things that had to happen first: shoes and socks needed to come off, Clint needed to knead Darcy's shoulders and kiss her neck; Darcy needed to use the bathroom and get a drink of water and Clint needed to clear stuff off the bed while she was in there so that their evening didn't end early with a fight over whose turn it was to do laundry. 

But once that was done:

Darcy almost--but didn't quite--storm out of the bathroom, leading with the lips, and shoved Clint down onto the bed, landing on top of him with her hair curtaining down all around their heads and blocking out a surprising amount of light. For a heartbeat he couldn't breathe but as soon as she let him up for air he pulled her back down, craving the sweeping heat of her breath and tongue against his lips. His hand fisted in Darcy's hair and her hands skimmed down his sides, soft and clever against the scars that crisscrossed his sorry hide. For a few minutes that's all there was: lips and tongues, hands and skin and the gorgeous heat rising between them. And then Darcy was swiveling her hips against his and there was more than just heat--

For all her pretending that she was _just_ Dr Foster's lab assistant, Darcy had a plethora of talents that had very little application in the lab. Take, for example, her ability to get his shirt off while remaining firmly atop him, knees clamping around his hips and tongue tangling in his mouth. There was also the way she was able to circle her pelvis in one direction while rubbing her breasts across his chest in another--frustrating, given that he was suddenly half-naked and she was still fully clothed. He growled, grasping her by the shoulders and turning them both over in a classic wrestling move that unfortunately took them over one corner of the bed. 

There needed to be a moment for wincing, catching breath, and giggling--but then Clint lunged over her and evened the clothing ratio, happily helping her out of her tshirt and deftly undoing her bra-clasp with one hand (one of his favorite tricks) so he could skim his palms up her stomach and cup those beautiful breasts. And then he had to kiss them, and kiss her mouth again, and...

At last they were both naked and he was buried in her to the hilt, her nails digging into his biceps and his face buried in the crook of her neck. All was focused on his solid heat filling her and the pulsing warm wetness that enveloped him completely, milking every last drop out of him until they both dropped to the floor, dragging the last of the blankets down on top of them. 

Darcy couldn't convince Clint to get back on the bed before he dozed off and she certainly couldn't lift him up there after that, so she did the best she could to cover him with the tangled blankets and wedge a pillow under his head. Despite the desire to cuddle, Darcy was almost wired now: even more eager to do something, anything, than she had after TOny's stupid seminar. She gazed down at Clint from a perch atop the mattress--an ironic post-coital switcheroo--and wistfully imagined him waking up, fully hard again, for another go-round. 

It didn't happen. Clint snuggled into the pillow and she adjusted the blanket over one shoulder. then when he settled, Darcy crept out of the room in search of something else to do.


	3. Did We Mention He's a Fertility God Too?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane Foster/Thor

As soon as Darcy and Clint had escaped the room, Jane knew exactly where the afternoon was headed. Shifting on Thor's lap so she could pull off a sweet movie theatre stretch-and-casually-drape-arm-across-shoulders move, she noticed that, while he wasn't wearing armor, there was definitely something under her ass that felt....ironclad? No, too much allusion to Iron Man, and she didn't think she  _wanted_ to think about that Stark bastard for a while. Definitely not tonight.  _Firm_ was too vague an adjective. _Adamantine_ sounded better but had certain mutant overtones, and while Jane didn't mind mutants in general her interactions with some of the XMen had ranged from awkward to unpleasant--

 

And then she was up in the air, ass-over-teakettle, as Thor recognized both the move she'd made and the contrasting look on her face as her brain kicked in; not wanting the brain to win ( _although_ , she reflected, _he had to love her brain too, right? of course he did. rooftop nights in New Mexico weren't undertaken just for the purpose of getting in a woman's pants--there was no guarantee that once a couple came down from the rooftop that the dry cold would have left anything capable of invading said pants_ ), the thunder-god took over.

 

"My friends," Thor gestured grandly, ignoring Jane's halfhearted struggles and noises of protest at being so far off the ground, "we have this day endured a trial unlooked-for, and emerged no worse at the end. In fact, we are better for it, and better informed, thanks to our good friend Stark. But now the natural balance of the day must be used in hearty exertion--" and a broad hand landed with a light smack on Jane's upturned butt, eliciting a half-delighted squeal from the scientist. "Should our presence be required, please do everything in your considerable powers to forget we're here." And with exaggerated bouncing strides that made Jane giggle like a little girl, Thor swept from the room, the considerable and not-unnoticed tent in the front of his pants pointing the way.

 

Halfway down the hall he swung her partway down and Jane obligingly locked her knees as far around his midsection as they'd reach, digging her fingers into his tangled, half-braided locks and kissing him with every ounce of her being, pressing her belly into his chest and shivering as his broad palms skimmed up her back under her flannel shirt. Thor always carried a small electric charge with him--it was just his nature--and while it wasn't even enough to put off a dry-rug-in-winter shock, there was still the delicious feeling of lighting playing everywhere he touched: her waist and shoulders, his lips on hers...even his breath, mingling hot in her mouth, tasted a little bit like ozone. Jane breathed deep and exhaled on a moan.

 

"This place is too public?" He whispered against her neck, a rough purr of perpetual five-o-clock shadow that tingled on her collarbone. She nodded, running her nails over the hard muscles of his neck and shoulders, and they were off again, and through the door to their rooms, which slammed behind them with enough force to jam the pneumatic closer shut. _A mechanical--problem--_ (even Jane's forever-racing brain was panting) _to be-- solved--later._  And then they were on the couch and she was straddling Thor's lap, sucking on his bottom lip as she rolled her hips over his, feeling utterly wanton and shameless and deliciously wet.  _Asgardian pheremones...go figure._ Shirts off, Thor explored Jane with his lips, nibbling on her throat as his calloused fingers rolled one nipple between them, then bending his head to take the other in his mouth. The positioning required had Jane bent backwards, almost prone on his lap, and she dug her fingers into his rocky biceps, feeling almost as though she were hanging on to helpful protrusions on a climbing wall. Sweat trickled across her scalp and she gasped at one particularly piquant jolt as her thunder-god skated his teeth lightly across her breast.

 

"My dearest," he whispered, his breath hot across her sweat-sheened skin, "you're looking a little flushed. Shall we pause a moment...?"

 

Jane levered her head up to glare at him. "Not if you want me to talk to you ever again." He gave her a wide white grin in response and then leaned over again, pushing her further along his knees, to strip her jeans and panties off. With an almost businesslike efficiency he unhooked her legs from around his waist and brought her knees up over his shoulders and, with one more significant look and a wink, buried his face into her slick pussy. Jane cried out at the first long, lingering swipe of his tongue, the crackling coolness in its immediate wake, and tried to pull herself closer onto his face. Thor's beard-prickly lips surrounded her clit, unerringly, sucking and massaging so that Jane didn't even notice when he began to ease them both down and sideways so that he could lay on his back--she did appreciate the move, though, as it meant she could lean over, grip the arm of the couch, and grind down onto him.

 

_The human tongue_ , Jane knew, w _as controlled by two sets of four muscles each: the intrinsic, which give the tongue shape and variety for speech and eating, and the extrinsic, which position the tongue to make consonants._ She'd been with human men who were very good at going down on a woman, who used those muscles to the best of their abilities. The Asgardian tongue, however, was so much more flexible and agile--and as she'd have to cut one out and dissect it to be sure, Jane had a theory she'd be fine not pursuing, that Thor's tongue posessed double the number of intrinsic muscles. _Oh gods_ \-- he licked up into her and Jane arched her back, feeling like a Tesla coil at a rock concert--pulsing through and through as the thunder-god tongue-fucked her through a thunderous orgasm.

_  
_She rolled, electrified: sex with Thor was like that; no exhausted after-glow but the feeling instead like she could do all the math to figure out all the universe's secrets in her head while running a full marathon in record time. Instead she positioned herself to undo the buckle on his belt and shove his jeans down, freeing his massive cock from the straining confines of his boxer-briefs. He moved, too, and laid her on her back, sliding into her smooth depths almost to the hilt, giving voice finally to his own moan. Jane stretched around him, loving the completed and full feeling as her kegels pulsed, knowing that his balls were vibrating against her sitbones and that he'd be ready to cum in a heartbeat. She wished she could reach down and fondle him, but he was inside her completely, belly and chest pressed tight against her, and she settled for clutching his shoulders as he slowly thrust in a little further. The second orgasm was like a landslide.

 

The blood pounded in their ears and they thought of animal-skin drums beating across unknown oceans. Each withdrawl and thrust was like the force of the tides and Jane's cries were ragged and panting even as Thor's voice began to wear out as well. Finally he gave a great heave and then almost yanked himself out, and Jane felt a heart-stopping second of panic--

 

Thor couldn't come inside her, not until they were absolutely sure that they wanted children. She couldn't swallow him down, either, or even lie in the wet spot: he was a fertility god, too, and taking any of his seed into her, in any way, would impregnate her. He'd known this, and told her, the first time they'd been together after New Mexico.

A mostly-empty popcorn bowl sat on the coffee table next to the couch, and went spinning off and clattering to the floor as Thor came and his seed struck it to the ground. He moaned once more, utterly spent, and with just enough energy left to shift Jane back onto his chest and lie beneath her on the couch cushions.

 

A crackling, creaking sound made them both look up: from the popcorn bowl a cornstalk poked out at an awkward angle, its tasseled tip waving a little over the a/c vent in the floor. Other scattered old-maid kernels were expanding even as they watched, sprouting their own miniature stalks and ears as they absorbed Thor's cum. He chuckled and Jane heard it in his chest like a distant storm. "Watering the crops," he mumbled as they both drifted off. 


	4. A Light Snack, Or: Food Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finds a way to deal with a pair of horny/hungry supersoldiers.

Bruce couldn't blame Thor, not really. It wasn't in his nature, even before he Jekyll-Hyded himself into Bruce of the Severe Dichotomies, to criticize or demean people for things about themselves that they couldn't help or change. It wasn't Thor's fault that his fertility-god aspect would, ahem, 'bless the herds' for a good square mile around while he got his alien groove on with Dr Foster. A shockwave of what Darcy had dubbed 'Thorimones' would ripple out from wherever the pair was making their love nest and inspire pretty much everyone to make the dance of the beast with two backs--luckily just on the one plane, and not in an expanding sphere. Inspired boot-knocking in all directions would have shut down Stark Tower, and possibly every other business within that mile, with sexual-harrassment and paternity suits enough to bankrupt even Pepper Potts' Fortune-100 company. As it was, if Jane and Thor were on the 103rd floor--as they were right now--the only other people inspired to dance the mattress jig would have to be within a mile on their horizontal axis and about ten feet either direction vertically.

_Not-blaming_ was great for karma. _Not-blaming_ was not-helpful, however, when one was pretty much cornered in a kitchen with the results of two governments'-worth of genetic experimentation whose appetites did not run, in any direction, towards the small, light, or delicate. Steve was still hunkered over the island countertop, chewing meditatively on a bite of his second three-inch-thick sandwich, while Natasha--the more frightening by far--sipped some kind of soft-drink concoction through a straw in a manner that Bruce was sure would get anyone else arrested, driven out of town by a church group, or at sent to the restroom until they could see their way towards behaving in a manner more suited to the classroom. And it wasn't like the Thorimones didn't effect Bruce, either; his arousal was just always always always tempered with a healthy dose of mortal terror at the thought of starting out a nice roll in the hay with some woman and suddenly waking up with blood and shredded remains tossed about the room: the inevitable outcome of The Other Guy inserting himself into Bruce's sex life. The thought of sex these days made him a little sick to his stomach, but nausea was one feeling he didn't have to wrestle The Other Guy for control over.

There was still the desire to do...something, though. To work and at the end of the work, to be satisfied and happy and to share the satisfaction and happiness with someone else. Intimately. He stole another glance at Natasha, whose eyes had not left him for the last few minutes; the silence in the kitchen was oppressive and weighted down with so much gamy tension that Bruce could feel a dark, thunderous rumble beginning in his solar plexus. Nat finished her drink and smacked her lips together, then flicked the tip of her tongue across her lower lip. Her eyes burned into his like a branding iron on a steak and Bruce could hear her stomach growl, as if she, too, was holding back some turgid, dark-souled entity who would devour him whole. 

"Maybe Stark updated the program protocols in the training center," Steve said suddenly, and Bruce knew that Cap's skin had to be crawling for something to do, too--something, anything, even if his brain was a little more removed from its lizard predecessors than Bruce or Nat's might be. "I could put in some laps, I guess. Or hit a bag. Agent Romanov, you feel like goin' a few rounds?" He stood from his perch and leaned against the counter, at once the picture of perfect innocence and masculine assertation, hips thrust forward, t-shirt pulled tight against the completely-unrealistic-and-yet-there-they-are muscles of his chest and shoulders. He grinned in the lazy way Bruce had seen him do with Darcy when Clint wasn't around, but that slow smile had as little effect on Natasha as it had on Darcy.

 

"Don't really feel like hittin' the mat right now, Cap," Nat replied, finally looking away. There wasn't heat or challenge in the look she gave Cap; it was a simple declaration: _I've made my mind up and this isn't going to go your way._ "In fact I might stick around in here for a bit. Something about long meetings like that makes me more than a little peckish and i think I might find a thing or two to nibble on." 

"Why don't I make--" Bruce's voice cracked, and he coughed a little, feeling the sweat trace down between his shoulder blades, imagining Nat's fingertips dragging across his abdomen, tipped in coppery-red nails. He tried again. "I'm gonna make us dinner, ok? Something nice. You guys give me--" he tore his eyes from Nat's and glanced at the clock--"give me two hours, go do what you need to do, and I'll have something ready, ok? Steve? Nat?" 

 

Steve pushed off the counter, as though he was actually being hoisted to his feet like a thousand tons of sorry carcass marinated in piquant manguish, and swiped his sandwich off the counter before slinking off to his room. A moment later they saw his shadow stride purposefully down the hall, absent sandwich and wearing his customary workout sweats. Nat waited till he'd turned the corner before she slid around the counter to stand next to Bruce. "Would you care for some help?" she purred, and Bruce felt the shiver down his spine snap like a frission. He took two deep, mindful breaths, for the thousandth time willing The Other Guy back into calm torpor. 

 

"Actually, I'd like to surprise you," he replied. "We never seem to have the time to make it out of the Tower for dinner and I...I think sometime I'd like to take you to dinner. You know, the two of us."  
  
"Steve might decide to come back. You did promise him food, after all."  
  
"Yeah, well, I have the feeling there'll be a bunch of hungry hungry heroes out and about in the next couple hours, so this one'll have to be a precursor. You know, casual group dining. Save the date for later."

 

"Well." Nat slid around behind him, as if making for the door, but Bruce didn't miss an instant of the contact she made, pressing her breasts into his shoulder and grazing the back of his neck with her fingertip. "Casual or not, I think I'm going to go find something appropriate to wear for dinner." She traced one finger down his cheek and planted a soft little kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for cooking." Bruce made himself not watch her walk away. 

 

The air cleared almost immediately with her exit--supersoldier pheremones were almost a palpable smell, and having the two of them in the same room, mixing their musk with the Thorimones, made it tough to breathe--and Bruce turned to the Avengers' shared well-stocked pantry. The walk-in cooler was full, too; JARVIS must've sent out for groceries the day prior. Unable to keep his lizard brain out of the equation, Bruce pulled items from shelves and set them in groups and lines on the counters according to the dishes they'd go into, and with that done, set about keeping his promise.

Cooking was a talent he'd discovered late in life; not until his exile had preparing food been of any kind of importance to him. Since then, and with his international search to find someplace where he could do some good, Bruce had discovered the pleasure and satisfaction that came with making a meal by hand and sharing it. He'd never make it on _Iron Chef_ or anything like that, but his kitchen chemistry (as he liked to think of it) had yielded some pretty good results so far. A Stark-supported kitchen had helped him refine a lot of his abilities and recipes over the last year.

Dessert first, to give it time to set and chill: a flourless chocolate torte that he couldn't not make, knowing that Natasha and Jane and Darcy would be sitting at the table in front of him, bodies love-spent and languid, with taste being the only sense _not_ overloaded by the afternoon's activities. He could imagine eyelids drifting shut at that first bite, knowing how the thick, soft cake would melt over the tongue as though it hadn't baked at all, filling the center of the mouth with dewy, clay-thick and bitter chocolate. He called up JARVIS with an almost absentminded request for a bottle of a dry, dark red wine to be rotated into the cooler and ready for dessert. 

Salad and appetiezer, then, something to prick the appetite and wake up those overblown senses, and make his companions interested in coming to the table: strong, sweet pears and candied hazelnuts, sharp red onions and sweet cherry tomatoes, all sprinkled with black pepper and tossed with spinach, arugula and butter lettuce. Wake up the tongue, give the belly something to consider, refresh the palate that has been strained with heaving breath and salt licked off of slick skin. He measured out oil and vinegar with some red pepper flakes and put the unshaken bottle on the table as a reminder. To JARVIS' query he added a request for a bottle of bright, sparkling apple chablis to serve as a starter. 

Three plump, fragrant Roma tomatoes, with a mild vidalia onion, whole-leaf basil and oregano, and probably more fresh garlic than was strictly necessary--these went into the food processor for a few seconds, then were scooped into a bowl with red-wine vinegar and salt and pepper and put into the fridge to marinate each other. Bruce stared into the bowl for a moment, knowing that if he scooped out a piece of tomato now, that the vinegar and garlic would be faint and weak on his tongue. Still, it was hard not to sneak a taste of the bruschetta before setting it aside to chill. He did indulge himself, however, in a long inhale of the French bread in the breadbox: warmed, drizzled with olive oil and more basil, crisp and with a little nosegay of Parmesan on top, this would keep the hunger building while filling the tongue with the sweet, piquant bruschetta--a promise of flavor and good-old-fashioned stick-to-your-ribs fare.

Rather than a soup he decided on a trencher course: yellow chicken curry  and naan (store-bought, luckily, its ready availability the main reason for including it on the menu). He closed his eyes over the pan of curry and let the scent remind him, for just a moment, of the busy kitchen of Mama Ji's house in Calcutta: a cramped, comfortable room with a window over the stove so that Mama Ji could ladle a helping of curry into the (sometimes improvised) bowls that her less-fortunate neighbors knew to leave on the sill. He couldn't remember ever seeing Mama Ji anywhere but at the stove or the sink and it seemed that she was cooking or washing up or prepping her meals at every hour of the day. Her son Rahm had brought Bruce in for a meal when he'd been in the neighborhood a week; three weeks later he'd finally made himself pack up the nest of papers and notes he'd collected on the sick persons in the neighborhood--practically everyone had an ailment or complaint that he'd tried to help ease, with varying degrees of success--and forced himself to move to another part of the city. Mama Ji's kitchen would not survive the momentary loss of his temper and he couldn't be responsible for the neighborhood's loss. She fed so many. He never found out if her husband knew what she did. ...Raisins plumped and swelled in the yellow sauce, thick with garlic and peanut oil, and the bite of the curry in his nose gave Bruce an excuse to dab his eyes on his sleeve.

Seventy-five minutes down. It's not cheating to use a rice cooker to steam a pile of white rice and plain vegetables; Bruce added only a pinch of salt to the pot--he'd never understood the allure of adding something as ridiculously expensive and as completely underwhelming as saffron to his rice, although he had to admit that the bright, mellow golden color certainly _looked_ delicious. But the bruschetta and the curry could both be mixed in with the rice and greens (sweet carrots, mild pearl onions, sharp spinach, sweet peas and some rather robust broccoli) if anyone wanted more than the natural flavor of either. Bruce asked JARVIS to rotate in a bottle of mild, dry red for the main course, and to gently intrude on his teammate's activities with the news that dinner was almost ready. 

And now, the main meat course. A few slices of thick, almost-British-cut bacon went into the toaster oven to warm while Bruce arranged a variety of cuts on the counter, ready for the stovetop grill that Tony had installed on a whim. More cooking sherry in a pan to saute white onions and garlic; the bleu cheese that Steve had a taste for would be added to the mix just before serving. For Thor and Barton, a pair of massive T-bones, peppered and seasoned and placed near the heat, but not over; both enjoyed their steak almost roasted. It took a lot of attention, but Bruce knew that both men would groan happily to feel the fat crackle between their teeth and would savor each lingering bite. For Steve, Tony, and Natasha: tenderloins of no small size either, wrapped in the bacon to lend a little butter to their low-fat texture. Tony's went on first, with a demure ring of red onion sitting on top; then Steve's, over the highest heat to induce a charred crust on the edges, with a little garlic salt on either side; and then Nat's, grilled on the edges first and only a short time in the middle. The Black Widow had a deep appreciation for the coppery taste of blood in her meat.

For Jane and Pepper: smaller filets, Jane's wrapped in bacon and almost as bloody as Natasha's, Pepper's a demure medium pink, and Bruce knew she'd steal a little of Steve's bleu-cheese-onion mess to spread over the top. For himself and Darcy, he found two fresh salmon steaks, almost astonishing in their size; these he sprinkled with olive oil, garlic, and brown sugar before searing them on the last clean part of the grill top. The middle would still be that fat, orangey-pink color of sushi salmon and would melt across the tongue with the almost soothing tang of the sweetened garlic mixture.

The pop of the wine cork behind him made Bruce swear and drop the wire grate-cleaning brush with a clang on the still-hot grill. Heart pounding, he turned to see Tony, grinning sheepishly as their teammates stumbled, staggered, slunk, and sashayed to the table. Bruce had been so absorbed at the grill that he hadn't noticed Stark's entrance and....

...had Tony...?

...no way. Really? But someone had set the table, and it hadn't been Bruce...   Tony poured each of the Avengers a glass of wine, smirking at their indolent, sleepy grins, not losing his shit-eating "I love being right" demeanor until Pepper walked in. Bruce pretended not to notice their reactions to one another: in a room full of hungry, languid people who had very recently gotten laid and were probably planning to continue their homage to any and all fertility gods later that evening, Tony and Pepper managed to find a thread of tension and stretch it tight between them. It wasn't until Bruce brought the salad and bruschetta to the table that he noticed the love-bites peeking out from the collar of Pepper's shirt. 

The feast fell, as so many things had before, to the Avengers: moans and exclamations of ecstacy blurted around the table at each bite, and the clatter of cutlery superceded all conversation until most of the Earth's Mightiest Heroes sagged back in their chairs, replete. Barton even went so far as to unbutton his pants, a compliment that Bruce laughed at even as Darcy smacked Clint in the chest for his lack of manners. Eventually most of the diners drifted off, groaning about naps and coffee and no, Steve, I don't feel like a light jog to help me digest, until only Bruce and Natasha remained at the table.

She'd found a glittery gray dress with one of those swoopy, drapey necklines (was it a cowl? No, Steve wore a cowl. Dr Doom wore a cowl. The name probably didn't matter) and tucked her claret curls up into a neat twist at the nape of her neck and taken the seat next to his as if it had always been hers and was the most natural thing in the world. The thing about that kind of neckline, Bruce had discovered, was that when the wearer leaned forward to take a bite or pass a dish, her decolletage was covered by folds of fabric in the front, but a quick twitch of a shoulder would reveal a smooth, neat expanse of collarbone and throat to whomever happened to be looking from the side. Bruce made a point of looking as much as he could.

Now they were alone at the table, one last slice of torte between them, and Nat was gazing at him with a look that he'd never seen on her face before. Bruce was almost shocked to recognize it as an afterglow look--one he'd wanted to see on her for a long time, but that he'd resigned himself to missing out on. _If--if--if_ he and Natasha would _ever_ get to that point in a relationship, he was dismally certain that The Other Guy would make sure any looks she gave him in bed would be in the range of _unmitigated horror_ and _abject terror_.

She took another bite of chocolate and closed her eyes, humming a little in pleasure at the dense, dark taste on her tongue. Moistening her lips as she swallowed, Natasha smiled a slow, dreamy smile. "Thank you for dinner," she murmured, leaning her head on her hand a little drunkenly. It seemed that while Steve never got drunk, Natasha could allow herself to feel the effects of alcohol, however fleeting; Bruce wondered if now she just chose to pretend the wine was still slinking through her bloodstream. He forked up the last bite of cake and took the chance of offering it to her; Nat's eyes twinkled, locked on to his, as she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around the tines, slowly sucking the dessert off the fork.

"I know it's probably not how you wanted to spend the afternoon, but I hope you liked everything," Bruce offered, a bit nervously. "Um, can I ask--what were you up to, uh, while I was in here?"

"I had to get ready for my date, of course," Nat replied, touching the corner of her mouth with a fingertip as if a crumb of torte remained there. "There's a lot a girl has to get done in two hours when a handsome man is making her dinner."  
  
"Well, you look amazing," he told her, finding it hard to look away from her mouth. The Other Guy grumbled a little in his sleep--or maybe it was just preliminary digestion--and turned over, uninterested in curiosity or romance. Bruce smiled, then leaned and kissed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because such things are necessary, I would like to credit http://www15.uta.fi/FAST/GC/sex-scat.html with being my go-to glossary for sexual euphemisms. The list is extensive and alphabetical.
> 
> The salad and bruschetta are, as described, two of my favorite dishes from Basta's, a little mom-and-pop-ish joint near my house. The chocolate torte is more commonly known at my house as PMS Avenger cake and a smoke break is generally needed if one is going to finish the whole slice.


	5. No Rewards for Bad Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper/Darcy/Steve, and no love for Tony.

Pepper was in the middle of a fine diatribe, in rare form, blazing with righteous anger, when the wave of Thorimones rolled up from the floors below and almost knocked her off her feet. _God damn it!_...she swore mentally, never minding that a god had _caused_ it, and steeled her knees and abdomen against their sudden need to buckle and tremble. Tony, too, looked overwhelmed for a moment, but then a slow, sly grin spread over his face, and Pepper knew she was on the verge of losing the argument. 

 

"What is it you were saying, dear?" he crooned, leaning forward in his seat, and licked his lips at her.  Pepper grabbed at her flagging rage, willing it to full blaze again, and nimbly dodged Tony's reaching grasp as he launched himself off the chair towards her. 

 

"Tony! How _dare_ you!" She swatted his hands away and he grinned, a true I-smell-victory shit-eating smile, and leaned against the edge of her desk with his hands fisted ostensibly in his pockets. The tight front of his jeans sported a third bulge, and Pepper felt a tingle run fronm the hollow of her throat to the tips of her breasts as her nipples practically sprang to attention, achingly hard. _Fuck._ "There is no way I am going to --to _reward_ your little stunt this afternoon. I have a pile of complaints from HR, from systems support, from the goddamn _copy shop_ about how and what you wasted their time on this past week! The man-hours alone--"

 

"Ooh, say 'man-hours' again, honey."

"Shut up, Tony! I am _not_ going to let you waste this coumanpy's resources--"

 

"Technically _my c_ ompany and _my_ resources--"

 

"Not any more, Mister Stark! You do _not_ get a free ride on this one!

 

"Hey, if it's rides we're talking, I am more than willing to pay my fare--"

 

"Oh of course, that's the perfect solution--let's rut like dogs in my office so the Board has more ammunition against me at the next emergency meeting--"

 

"That's a fantastic idea, dear, can I help you out of your skirt please?"  
  
"The only way you can help," Pepper took a deliberate step towards him, consciously drawing herself up to her full and superior height, "is to get out of my office. Issue a written apology to the affected departments. And stay out of Stark for the next week."

 

It was almost impossible to stand so near him and not give in to the Thorimones pulsing throughout the office: she could smell his musky, metallic scent, see the sweat glistening at his hairline. All Pepper wanted to do was fist her hands in his hair and devour his mouth, crush her breasts and belly against his, wrap her legs around his waist until he was buried as deep inside her as was humanly possible. A wild, ecstatic fucking, a deep dicking, a savagely satisfying sexcapade right there in front of the twenty-foot windows--and another victory for Tony Stark over his simpering, milquetoast secretary-cum-successor. Her coiling nethers practically groaned for want of him, but she stood firm.

 

And he knew it, too. Shame flitted across his face, quickly replaced by indignation and Tony's own short-fused anger. "Fine. Fine! You want your written apology? I'll go write your damn apology. No, you know what? JARVIS can write it for me. Dummy can write it for me! Screw your damn apology." He folded his arms petulantly, avoiding Pepper's steaming gaze. "Fine. I'll see you in a week, Miss Potts."

 

"You can show yourself out, Mister Stark."

 

Pepper spun on one sky-high heel and stormed out of her own office and down the hall, not caring that it looked like (and was) a retreat; JARVIS would have the whole conversation recorded, so she could corner Tony (figuratively speaking) online tomorrow and make sure the appropriate apologies got written. But for now she needed to be somewhere besides her office... The elevator dinged and Pepper almost bowled into a curvaceous young brunette lounging against the frame of the doors. She swore again, then apologized. The girl grinned, and Pepper belatedly realized that she was Darcy, Dr Foster's assistant, and probably completely nonplussed by her language. 

 

"Going up?" Darcy stepped back so Pepper could step in and jab the button for the top floor. As the doors slid shut, Pepper couldn't help but notice that Darcy's hair was tousled--her lips looked swollen, almost bee-stung--the lacy black curve of her bra was visible through the oft-washed pale gray of her tight t-shirt. _What a pair_ , Pepper thought grumpily. _A prudish CEO and a freshly-fucked lab assistant. This can't end well._

 

"So, uh, what's on the top floor for you, boss-lady?" Darcy asked, friendly but more than a little nervous. 

 

"Just a little escape. Doctor Banner grows his own tea plants in one of the greenhouse labs and it's a nice place to take a couple minutes' break," Pepper replied, thinking not so much of Bruce's serene tea garden as the pack of hand-rolled cigarillos that she kept stashed in one of the cabinets. Bruce didn't mind the smoke in the greenhouse and she thought maybe a couple puffs would help calm her jangling nerves. 

 

"Oh, nice! Yeah, I was, um, headed that way myself. Doctor Banner says the plants appreciate a little change in the flavor of the air..." here Darcy waved the pack of cigarettes she'd been palming in the pocket of her sweatpants. "I don't usually smoke," she confessed in a rush. "But Cl--Agent Barton fell asleep early and I'm, uh, going a little stir-crazy with everyone else occupied and all the..."

 

"Thorimones?" Pepper supplied, smiling. "Didn't you come up with that one?" 

 

Since it was technically after hours, Pepper swiped her access card at the door to the greenhouse lab so that they could enter. She also keyed off JARVIS' voice alerts, eyeing the rolling progress of Darcy's hips as she preceeded her boss into the greenhouse. Her belly still trembled hotly and her breasts were beginning to ache from the rigid stance her nipples had kept for the whole elevator ride. Stir-crazy. That was one word for it. 

 

She wasn't sure how it happened--one moment she and Darcy were goofing off amongst Bruce's less-delicate tea plants, trying to pucker their lips just right to blow smoke rings and failing miserably (in fact, Pepper tended to whistle rather than come out with a smoke ring: a giggle-inducing mistake) ...and the next, Darcy's plump lips were murmuring over her collarbone and throat as Pepper's palms skimmed the girl's waist, inching the hem of her t-shirt higher and guiding her hips closer to Pepper's own. Both were careful to hold their respective burning brands away from the other, but that didn't stop Pepper from grabbing a handful of Darcy's dark curls and pulling her head back so she could plant her lips on the girl's. Their tongues slipped in and out, the taste of gas-station smokes mingling with the smoother, darker notes of Pepper's custom-blended cigarillos, and Pepper nipped Darcy's lower lip, pulling back just a little, asserting just enough dominance. 

And Darcy's phone rang. 

 

It was a good excuse to break away, take stock, evaluate--Pepper took a long, comforting drag from her rapidly-dwindling smoke, regarding the younger woman with only a little panic and a whole lot of swamping desire. It wasn't even a question of how she wanted this encounter to end, if it was going to continue: Thor's influence was enough to drop her CEO's reservations in the face of the fact that Pepper hadn't had an attractive woman's attentions in a long, long time. And despite her involovement with Agent Barton, Darcy seemed to have even fewer hesitations when it came to making out with her bosses-bosses-boss. She looked up at Pepper, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, and smiled. "Text from Cap," she murmured slyly. "Says everyone else is 'busy' and he'd like to bum a smoke. Mind if he joins us?"  
  


"Steve Rogers smokes?" Somehow that little tidbit made it to the front of her brain, while the implications of Darcy's suggestion percolated in her deeper lizard brain. Then everything caught up, and Pepper smiled. Darcy had no problem helping the big boss out of her jacket and blouse. 

 

By the time Steve made it into the greenhouse, both women were topless and Darcy was down to just her panties. Pepper was on her second smoke and she lazily held the burning roll out to the astonished supersoldier. He took a long, appreciative drag, watching Darcy suck Pepper's nipple into her mouth as Pepper skated her fingernails lightly across Darcy's shoulders and through her luxurious curls. Darcy released Pepper's breast with an audible pop and giggled at Cap. "Hey Steve-o," she beckoned, "Boss-lady here has had a hard day. Maybe you wanna give her a little shoulder rub?" Steve's shirt was already off, and he flicked the butt of the cigarillo with expert accuracy so that it landed in one of the rain-collection barrels. 

 

Steve slid behind Pepper, reaching around to cup her breasts as he slowly ground his hips against her ass, and Pepper arched her head back, a delighted smile on her face, to find him so hard so quickly. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, the knob of her spine, his hands gently massaging her breasts, rolling the electrified nipples between his calloused fingers. Darcy's lips were busy too, tracing a line down Pepper's breastbone, taking a pause to suck one of Steve's fingers into her mouth before she sank lower, kneeling in front of Pepper, sliding her hands up Pepper's thighs to scrunch her skirt up and pull her panties down. Pressing her mouth to Pepper's dripping lips, Darcy's tongue darted in and out of her cleft as Pepper moaned and shuddered, so close to orgasm that she felt her knees buckle. 

 

They all managed to get to the floor without injury: Darcy on her back, Pepper straddling her face, with Steve now between Darcy's legs. He stroked her for a moment, almost distractedly, watching Pepper grind her pussy down onto Darcy's face, hearing her breathless cries as she arched her back in a rolling orgasm that Steve could almost feel. He fumbled with the condom Darcy had miraculously had in her pocket, squeezing the latex down over his throbbing cock, before stroking his tip up and down Darcy's hot slit. When Darcy moaned as he first entered her, Pepper squealed at the vibrations in her tender sex. Steve made sure to slide in slowly. Darcy's muscles squeezed around him, pulsing up and down his shaft and she moaned into Pepper's pussy again, thrusting her tongue up inside Pepper, feeling the CEO's kegels spasm in ecstacy. 

Steve tried to be gentle, and tried to go slowly, but the sight and sound of Pepper Potts riding Darcy's face was almost maddening. He buried his cock into Darcy's sweet crevice as far as he could, amazed at her ability to take his whole shaft without flinching. He pressed one thumb to her pulsating clit, rolling it around in time with the bucking of her hips and his harder and harder thrusting. Careful not to do it too quickly, Steve lifted Darcy's hips higher, getting more movement into his thrusts, twisting his hips left and right with each entry and withdrawl, his breath coming faster and more raggedly. Cap barely managed to wait for Darcy to cum before he had to let go himself, the thrusts almost throwing him on top of the brunette, burying his face into Pepper's shoulder as she arched backwards over Darcy in the throes of her own final orgasm. She only gasped when he bit her shoulder, tangling her fingers in his sweat-soaked hair.

 

At last they all lay on the carpeted floor of the greenhouse, a gasping, shuddering pile of sweaty limbs and feathery kisses. Darcy raised two fingers to her lips then drew a pair of hashmarks on an invisible chalkboard above her, and Pepper had to laugh. "Feeling better, Boss-lady?" Darcy inquired breathlessly. 

 

All three phones chirped simultaneously, and Pepper tried to not feel guilty as she reached for hers to read the text JARVIS had sent out. "Ooh, Bruce was cooking? That sounds exciting."

 

"Sounds perfect, now that I've worked up an appetite..." Steve quipped, and had to duck as Darcy halfheartedly chucked a shoe at him. 

 

 


End file.
